Fire and Feathers
by Fate8
Summary: Evil stalks former JLA member Fire with bad intentions. Reviews always appreciated


Once, as a small child, my father took me fishing. It was one of those idyllic summer days complete with a cloudless sky and a lazy breeze coming off the lake. We didn't catch any fish, but that was okay. I was with my dad, and mostly we just talked, enjoying a care-free afternoon. It is a childhood memory I cherish dearly.

The next day my parents executed a flawless robbery of the bank in the nearest town. As we sped away from the local yokels, my dad turned in the driver's seat of our car and winked at me. My mom smiled and blew me a kiss. I loved them so much. Two years later, they were gunned down in a firefight with the forces of justice. I watched the only two people I ever cared about die before my eyes. You might say it was the day my own destiny became clear.

It was a long, hard road to acquire the knowledge and skills I needed to exact my revenge. Every time I faltered, I remembered the sound of bullets piercing my father's flesh. And the strange gurgling sound my mother made as her life slipped away in a pool of blood. Those memories drove me, and I vowed nothing would stand in the way of my desire to wreck havoc on those who promote peace, justice and fair play. To hell with all of them.

My recent escapades had brought a host of costumed clowns after me, but few could access The Ghost Zone, an other worldly dimension that I call home. Even so, they made a go of it. At one point, I had to breach space-time to escape from Dr. Fate. I arrived on an alternate Earth. In a strange replica of New York City to be accurate. The people were all excited about a group called The Avengers. They appeared to be heroes, but spandex wearing fascists were no Justice League. Maybe some day, I'll go back. Anyway, I soon became restless and began to plan my next excursion. I was in the mood to destroy something beautiful.

San Paolo is close to being a paradise. The Brazilian women that infest the beaches and resorts are some mad god's gift to the world. There was one in particular, however, who drew my attention. Several weeks of observation revealed the pattern of my intended victim. It went something like this: party, gala event, party, photo shoot and the occasional bit of superhero activity thrown in for good measure. Nice work if you can get it. Life was good for Beatriz Bonilla DaCosta, a.k.a Fire. That was all about to change.

I infiltrated the upper social circles of the area with ease. If you throw enough money around and possess a modicum of wit, doors will open. I had plenty of both. It wasn't long before I was rubbing elbows with the elite, chatting away in Spanish or Portuguese. The inane babble threatened to make my head explode, and I swore to gut the next person who mentioned the latest stock market trends. Finally, DaCosta made her cliched dramatic entrance. She burst upon us poor mortals like a sun, with a large entourage in her wake. Flashbulbs popped, and the room held its collective breath, like they had all been waiting just for her. She was poised, gorgeous, confident and well…green. It was a striking combination. I waited until the initial rush had died away, then strolled up and introduced myself. I bowed, then took her hand and kissed it like some Old World buffoon. While I did so, a miniature scraper hidden beneath my fingernail took a microscopic sample of DaCosta's DNA. She never noticed. I hung around long enough to satisfy social obligations without appearing to be bored out of my skull, before making excuses and slipping away. Once out of sight, I clicked the Cosmic Key and went home.

I tossed my ridiculously overpriced jacket over a crooked chair, and made straight for the science lab. I downloaded the DNA sample and began to run batteries of tests. It took a bit of time, but at last I found what I was looking for. DaCosta could turn her entire body into some sort of green flame. It was the source of her powers. She gained her present abilities after recovering from a flu-like illness some years ago. It was so simple, I laughed when the final test results exposed the truth. An exotic viral infection had triggered a mutation in Fire's metagene.

It took a solid week of experimentation to synthesize an effective antidote.

Ms. DaCosta'a whereabouts were easy to track, thanks to the local media reporting her every move. She was currently out of the country to promote this or that, but was due back in a couple of days. It was more than enough time to hatch a plan.

Fire's estate was splendid. A twenty-room mansion with a huge enclosed courtyard was the centerpiece. Arboreal gardens bordered the entire place. Inside, she had a hallway filled with pictures of heroes. DaCosta was prominent in many of them, while others were autographed to her. The signed picture of Superman was especially nice. I finally tired of the vanity displays and settled back to wait for the mistress of the house to return. 

As the day slipped into late afternoon, DaCosta arrived in a stretch luxury car. I cloaked myself to remain unseen while she got rid of various hangers-on. After the last sycophant was driven away, Fire was left alone except for two servants, a maid and a cook. DaCosta went upstairs to change clothes. She returned twenty minutes later wearing a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved blouse. Heading outside, she grabbed a large floppy hat and a pair of gardening gloves. 

I waited five more minutes, then glided into the kitchen. Unseen, I slipped up behind the cook as he was chopping vegetables for a salad. I clamped my hand over his mouth, cupping his chin in my palm. I whispered, "Surprise," and twisted his neck hard enough to hear the distinctive crack of separating vertebrae. I lowered his limp form to the floor. Making my way upstairs, I switched off my cloak. The maid was busy turning down a bed. I walked up and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned, and I punched her hard in the solar plexus. The air whooshed out of her lungs. I caught her as her knees buckled. I carried the unfortunate maid out into the hallway while she gasped for air. We stopped in the hall of heroes. I held my hand over her mouth, and leaned in close. "Look at all the shiny, smiling superheroes," I said. A sharp blade slid out of my right gauntlet. "Tell me, which one of them will save you now?" I paused to let the question sink in, then drew the knife-edge hard and deep across her throat just as she began to cry. I directed the arterial blood spray over the walls, splattering many of the pictures on display. Sometimes you have to send a message.

DaCosta was on her knees digging around in the dirt with a spade when I entered the courtyard. The viral antidote was contained in a small dart which was now loaded into my gauntlet. A little chuff of compressed air sent the vaccination into the exposed skin at the small of her back. Fire jumped up like she'd been stung, turned and saw me standing there, lights flickering over my helmet, and trademark energized nightstick in hand.

"Hey, Fire," I said. "What's up?"

"Prometheus," she screamed. "You dare to come here?"

"Oh yeah," I replied. "Now flame on hero, and let's get on with this." I grinned underneath my visor. As I'd hoped, this enraged DaCosta enough to use her powers. The mysterious green flame rippled over her body. I wondered briefly how long it would be until the vaccine took effect. Not long, as it turned out.

She fired off a burst of energy, and a ball of green flame streaked for my head. I dodged low and did a combat roll to avoid it. Fire then began to rise up off the ground. I really hate flying heroes. Some kind of envy, I guess. She flew about ten feet when I saw a grimace pass over her face. Green flames flickered and went out, and Fire crashed back down to earth. She drew herself up onto her knees, and stared at her hands, shock apparent in her eyes.

"My powers," she said.

"Are gone," I finished. "How are you going to fight me now?" That's the thing about metas. They rely so heavily on their powers. Without them, most are at a complete loss, and it makes them easy targets. I charged, and swung my nightstick. Caught off guard, DaCosta raised her arm to ward off the blow. Her bones snapped like twigs, and she screamed in pain. I followed the attack with two precision strikes to nerve clusters and finished with a crushing side kick to the knee. She sank to the ground in a heap, and it was over.

I walked up, reached down and grabbed a handful of green hair. I jerked DaCosta into something resembling a sitting position. I bent down and leered at her. " I know what you're thinking," I said. "But you're wrong. I have no intention of killing you." I showed her the blade I had used to cut the maid's throat. "What I have in mind is much worse than that." I placed the point of the knife just below the corner of her eye. With a quick flick of my wrist, I gashed her face from cheek to chin. I cut deep enough to see a quick flash of white bone. She bucked and struggled, but I was stronger, and with her injuries, there was no chance of escape. "Now hold still," I said. " This may sting a little." I began to cut down the opposite side of her face, and she let loose a high, keening wail when she realized exactly what was happening. No more supermodel good looks. No more paparazzi or fame. It was all coming to a bloody end.

That was when I noticed the shadow falling over me. And it was shaped like a pair of giant wings.

I looked back over my shoulder in time to see a big mace whistling through the air, intent on crushing my skull. I brought the nightstick up just in time, and the two weapons cracker together. The impact flung me a good thirty feet along the ground. My attacker landed between DaCosta and myself.

Hawkman. He had a serious score to settle with me. A few months ago, I killed Kendra Saunders, also known as Hawkgirl, his one true love. I knew the why, but how he happened to be here was a mystery. In any case, he was not someone I relished seeing at the moment.

I raised myself to one knee. "Hi Carter," I said. "How about minding your own business for once?'

"Shut up, you filth," he shouted. The winged warrior hefted his mace. "Your reign of terror ends here." I did a quick threat assessment. Hawkman was pissed, and armed to the teeth.

"And here I thought you were going to thank me," I said with a smile. "After all, I freed up your dating calendar for this entire lifetime." It was a well-aimed low blow, and it goaded Hawkman into action. He ran toward me, mace held high. I ducked the blow, and countered with a swipe at his leg with the nightstick. It failed to connect because the bastard flew up out of range. Hawkman dropped his mace and drew a short sword from a scabbard on his back. He circled in the sky, then came back around and made a straight line for me. I let him come.

When I judged the distance was right, I swung the nightstick. He blocked it with a thick shield strapped to his arm. The wood splintered under the impact, and Hawkman was thrown sideways, hitting the turf. I did not escape unscathed. When I struck, so did he. I felt the tip of his sword bite into my side. His velocity and strength, boosted by the alien Nth metal, allowed him to pierce the armor in my costume. Not deep, but hot blood flowed from the wound. I was bleeding, and Hawkman's arm hung limp. It wouldn't be that way for long. The Nth metal also healed injuries. 

The mini-disks in my helmet could download information straight into my brain and nervous system. This was extremely useful when it came to understanding scientific theories, building schematics or how to whip someone's ass. I really wished I had the Cassandra Cain or Richard Dragon programs installed, but dealing with Fire, I didn't think I'd need elite fighting skills. Then Carter Hall with his centuries of fighting experience shows up, and all I have on disk is Mr. Terrific.

Hawkman screamed a war cry, and launched himself at me, wings beating the air. His sword was extended straight out in front of him. I could still see some of my blood on the tip. I did not intend to let him get close enough to skewer me. I raised my right gauntlet and fired a high-impact projectile. It hit him in the chest, and I saw blood blossom as the mad warrior was thrown backwards. He hit the ground hard and lay facedown in the dirt. Hall was breathing, but not moving. Lying there bleeding and waiting to die was an opportunity I simply could not pass up.

I shuffled over, and grabbed his shoulder, my own blade ready for a quick thrust to the throat. That was when shit went south in a hurry.

Hawkman twisted in my grip, rolled slightly and plunged a dagger into my right thigh. It sank deep through the muscle tissue and scraped the bone. White pain lanced through my head. My leg gave way, and I must have screamed, but I don't remember. Laying on the ground, clutching my leg, I remained aware enough to reach for the nightstick, which was close by my hand. I maneuvered around to bash in Hawkman's head, but he had crawled away. He was sitting and staring at me, one hand covering his chest wound, while the other was still hanging at his side. I hoped the bones were shattered. I used the nightstick to standup, without putting any weight on my injured leg. Blood was soaking my costume and dripping onto the grass. My enemy was scowling at me with naked hate.

"Nice try, Khufu," I said, using his ancient Egyptian name. "But not quite good enough." I pulled out the Cosmic Key even as Hawkman struggled to his feet. Tough bastard. "Another time, perhaps." I clicked the Key, and transported to The Ghost Zone with Hawkman's agonized "No!" ringing in my ears.

I arrived back at my crooked house, and gingerly limped back to my custom med-lab. As I stitched myself up, I reflected on what had happened in Brazil. My goal of maiming Fire had been accomplished, but once again, I had grown greedy and overconfident. I realized these self-destructive tendencies would likely mean my death one day. But not today. I laughed and jammed a syringe full of painkillers into my leg.


End file.
